


I'll Fight Until I Fall

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Except it starts with sex, F/M, Greg is broken, Hurt/Comfort, Molly is broken, Screwed up family dynamics, Slow Build, angst angst angst, but not really, one-night stands, probably drug use, self-destructive behaviors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper is the kind of person who never gets noticed, never gets seen. She flies under everyone’s radar. Even her family doesn’t pay attention to her - unless she’s in trouble. In her own way, she delights in being in trouble. When she causes trouble, people notice her.</p><p>Greg Lestrade has watched his life spiral out of control because he’s never been good enough. Not a good enough Detective, not a good enough husband - not a good enough person. So when life hits him hard, he tries to escape.</p><p>Straight into the arms of a wrecked Molly Hooper.</p><p>One drunken night leads to another, and before they realize it, they’re caught up in something that looks suspiciously like commitment. But can their burgeoning love be enough to overcome the doubts that have haunted them for so long?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Mollstrade that will, like everything else, receive updates every two weeks. :) It's dark, it's angsty, full of self-destructive behavior and eventual character growth. Yes, I do like breaking people.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

It was never easy, not Molly's opinion, to sit there and listen to her family talk. To listen to them extol the virtues of her sisters. Both of them had done so many things, won so many awards. And Molly had tried so hard to live up to them.

"Ariel," her mother said, looking to Molly’s older sister. “How's that new boyfriend of yours?" Molly’s mother, Caroline, looked expectantly at Ariel. Molly said nothing, just digging into the food in front of her. Probably high, was her guess. Despite Ariel's accomplishments, she didn't really have a good track record in choosing boyfriends.

But none of that mattered. She was perfect.

Not that Molly was bitter or anything.

Her mom glanced to her, narrowed her eyes. Molly got the message loud and clear. Nothing to interrupt her darling, or disturb their dinner. She was to be seen, not heard. Molly quietly took another bite of her food. Said nothing.

“Fine, thank you,” Ariel said, a smile on her face.

Next Caroline turned to Elody, the youngest sister. Four years younger than Molly, she was just finishing Uni. She got grilled about her postgrad education, where she was going, what she was doing. But neither of them looked at Molly, none of them asked her. They didn’t care. She was the one nobody talked about. The one nobody acknowledged.

She looked at them, at her perfect older sister, perfect younger sister. Then there was her, forever lost in the middle.

"So what exactly are you doing?" Molly asked, her voice innocent. Her mother shot a scathing look in her direction. Apparently, her opinion didn't matter. That wasn't a surprise. Molly tuned out the rest of the conversation, focused on the food. It wasn’t even that good. She sat there, listening to the voices drone on and on, until they sounded no louder than TV static. All they did was keep talking about her sisters, about their lives.

Ariel, finishing medical school and picking a postgraduate specialty. Despite the fact that Molly had done that already, was further along, it was not nearly as exciting as Ariel’s decision to do what she did. At least that was what it sounded like the way her mother gushed over it. It was like Molly had never existed.

Elody was first in her class, recently graduated from Uni. Law job. Posh, perfect boyfriend. She was gorgeous, tall and willowy. She had everything.

Nobody cared about Molly. She was forgotten. She was useless, in a way. She sighed, watched them, ate food. Regretted her decision to come over in the first place. She was asked so often that it was hard to say no. Hard not to hope that things would be different when she saw them again. But they never were.

She swallowed, tried to force herself to smile. Her mother looked her, and for once, Molly felt seen. And then the gaze slide right past her, back to her sister, before Molly could say a word.

She was determined to try anyway. "I'm getting a promotion," she said.

Nobody said anything, not for long moments. Caroline looked at her, smiled. "That's nice, dear."

Molly smiled numbly, thought about all it had taken her to get it. The sleepless nights, the difficulty sleeping, the fact that she had studied so many hours outside of work in order to get this promotion. But no, all it was worth was a ‘that’s nice’. None of the fawning her sisters got. None of the praise. She was invisible.

Molly set her fork down, got an alarmed look from her mother, from her father. She was being rude, and she knew it. At least by her family standards. But she was tired of pretending, tired of dealing with her family's issues.

"I have to go," she said after a moment. Her parents looked at her, baffled.

"Okay," Caroline said. She studied her for a moment, then turned back to her meal. Apparently it had been dismissed as one of Molly’s tantrums, one of her aberrations that made her not a real member of their family.

Molly looked at them for a moment, her hands balled into fists. She couldn't deal with them, couldn't deal with what they did to her. How they treated her. She doubted they would come for her if she was in trouble, if she needed them. She annoyed them just by existing. She was inconvenient, extra. She was the one who wasn't worth any of their time. Like her beautiful beautiful sisters, who Molly had long learned to resent. But she loved them, too. It was complicated, and it was something that was easier to ignore.

Numbly, she put her dishes in the sink, then left. She didn't have to work until later tomorrow, wasn't picking up an extra shift this week. So she could go out, let her hair down, let off stress. At home, she changed, dressing in a little slinky minidress. Did her hair, did her makeup. She knew how to accentuate her figure, her face.

She knew how to get noticed, because while her family didn't notice her, other people did.

She dressed decently enough that she wouldn't get arrested, but the rest – the rest was negotiable.

Her family would be scandalized if she knew what they did, what she liked to do in her free time. But Molly didn't care. She was long past childish displays, long past rubbing their nose in it. Wasn't she?

She yawned as she changed clothes, and then drank some coffee. It wouldn't do good to be tired. She had to appear perfectly serene, like nothing mattered beyond finding a man. In a way, nothing did. She needed someone to escape to, to use and pretend that nothing was wrong. That maybe, just maybe, someone loved her.

She shoved away the thoughts, slipped on a tall pair of heels. Everything did matter, and she knew it. But for now, she could ignore it all. She sighed, and then left her home. She would go to the bar, and she would have a good time. That would be more than enough to get her through the next few days. With a shiver, she headed out the door. At least tonight promised to have some interesting elements.

She went to her favorite bar, glanced around, scanning the available men. Got her drink, sipped it. Settled down to watch. She liked this bar, liked the bartenders, the way they treated her. The way they made her feel like there was nothing wrong with her, even though she thought there was.

The first man to approach her wasn't really her type, a bit too young, a bit too full of himself. She chatted for a few moments, and then snubbed him. It took him a bit, but eventually he got the hint and moved. She smiled blankly at her drink, glanced around. No, there weren't many more. Apparently, her type was rare.

She studied the men eyeing her for a moment, figuring she'd give them a little bit of a chance. Give them some time to approach her, before she got bored and went after the one she wanted.

That was what happened most of the time.

She yawned, glanced around. There was a younger man, another one. He didn't seem that bad, but not really her type. Still, she smiled as he approached. "Hello," she said softly, her voice sweet, seductive. She knew how to get what she wanted, knew that sometimes it took more work to get what she wanted, but Molly was okay with that. She craved it.

She swallowed, and then looked at the man. He looked at her, and his eyes were very clearly looking her up and down. She shifted slightly so she accentuated her breasts, the length of her legs. She was short, yes, but she knew how to look nice when she needed to. Or wanted to.

"You're cute," the man said.

Molly raised her eyebrows. He didn't seem very smart, which wasn't very promising. She did have standards, after all.

"Thank you," she said after a moment. There wasn't really any other way to respond to that.

He smiled. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Molly considered it for a moment. "No." He didn’t seem worth it, not really.

He scowled at her, pushed away from the bar. Muttered “bitch” as he walked away.

She smiled at her drink. Yes. That was exactly what she was.

Then a third person sat next to her, and she glanced at him. This one didn't seem like the others. He didn't seem directly interested in her. Instead, it almost felt like that it was a coincidence that he sat there, that he'd happen to take the only available seat next to her because there was nowhere else to sit.

Molly didn't believe in coincidences, not when it came to men.

But still, he wasn't bad. He was a little bit older than her, with dark hair shot with salt and pepper gray. It looked rather fetching on him. He seemed to have a nice body underneath his jeans and button-down. When he looked at her, when he smiled, his face seemed tired but charming.

He was Molly's type, and she wanted him.

She tugged her dress down a little bit lower, or about as low as it could get without getting her arrested. It was easy enough to use her assets to get what she wanted. "Hello," she said softly.

The man turned to look at her, raised his eyebrows. His gaze went straight to her dress and she smiled. Few could resist that. "Want something?"

Molly looked at him, her eyebrows raised. Was it a question for her or a question for him? "A drink," she said. Testing. Probing.

“Do you want another one?" He smiled, but it wasn’t warm, wasn’t comforting. It was wicked, the way his face shifted.

Molly looked at him and grinned. Two could play at that game. "Yes," she said finally. "I would love a drink.”

He looked at her, and he had nice brown eyes. They were warm and wicked, promising an interesting night. Not quite the bad boy she enjoyed taking home other times, but she didn't feel like disciplining another man. She wanted one that knew what he was doing, could listen without having have his hands held. It seemed like this man would be it. Suave, sophisticated. Dark, without being angsty. Then again, not that Molly particularly cared. She just wanted as little drama in her life as possible. She yawned. Feigned boredom. He looked at her, raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll order, then," he said, turning to the bartender. She looked at him, raised her eyebrows. She wasn't exactly going to say no, wasn't exactly going to resist. She wanted him in her bed. A drink could speed that up.

She let him buy her a drink and they sipped in silence. She looked him up and down, not bothering to hide it. She was going to sleep with him, she wanted to make sure he was what she wanted. And he was. Despite being a touch older, he was well muscled under his clothes, and his jeans fit exceptionally well. It'd been a stroke of luck, finding him. Even the younger man she had slept with from bars didn't look nearly as nice. Maybe that was just what happened with age. Men could be like fine wine, getting better the older they got.

Inwardly, she laughed at her own assessment. She honestly doubted that was true, given the nature of men. But for now, she was going to focus on the positives. He was looking at her, looking at her chest. Seemingly quite entranced by her breasts.

"What's your name?" she asked, sipping her fruity drink. She swirled the straw lazily, looked at him. Smiled, seductive. They were so easy to manipulate, just like that.

He looked at her, and she couldn't miss the way his eyes followed her hand. So easy.

  
"Greg," he said after a moment. Part of her was disappointed. What a plain name. But then again, it didn't have to be his real name. Maybe wanted to be as anonymous here as she was. "Yours?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.

She looked at him, smiled. "Molly," she said after a moment. It was anonymous enough that he could assume it was false, but even after all she drank she didn't have to fight to remember it.

He reached out and touched her arm, stroked her gently. Molly felt a sizzle of energy, a connection. Oh yes, this evening was going to be good. She smiled at him, daring him, in a way. "Nice to meet you.” She reached out, leaned closer. Put her hand on his thigh. "Are you doing anything this evening?" she asked after a moment.

He looked at her, studied her for a moment. It was a loaded question, and both of them knew it. "What are you doing?" he asked instead.

Molly cocked her head to the side, bit her lip. Coy, suggestive. She was getting closer and closer to the junction of his thighs, the hardness that she could feel there. Oh, this would be too easy.

He looked her, smiled. Shifted slightly so that she could touch him if she wanted. "You, it looks like.”

She didn’t draw her hand back, didn’t take the bait, but her cheeks turned a faint pink. It was a game she was used to playing, but it was rare it went both ways. She looked at him, studied him for a moment. Enjoyed the way that the energy sizzled under her skin as he touched her. She could imagine his hands against the rest of her skin, touching her, caressing her. Inside of her.

Molly shuddered in delight, and he looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Let's go," she said without preamble. She didn’t want to waste any more time here. He looked at his drink, took a sip.

She glared at him, impatient. She had other things to do than watch him drink, more important things. Like getting him naked. They could deal with any other baggage later.

"Your place or mine?"

Molly looked at him, raked him up and down. "Mine."

A smile curved his lips. Apparently that had been the right answer. His eyes swept her body again, wanting, needing. A little shiver ran through her body, and she felt heat flare through her. If they didn't go now, they wouldn't make it. Molly was sure of that.

He leaned down, kissed her cheek. A hint, a promise. "Lead the way."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greg's POV this chapter. :D

It wasn't unusual for Greg to wake up with a hangover, not anymore. Not since he had started frequenting bars, and – going home with a couple people. But none of the alcohol - or the women - had been quite as harsh on his senses as the woman from last night. She had been absolutely amazing, in all meanings of the word. He was sore all over.

But none of that mattered because he had to focus and be professional. As professional he was going to get with his head hurting the way it was.

He stifled a yawn as he walked into the Yard, nodding to his female sergeant, Sally Donovan. She was pretty, but also kind of terrifying. The shouting, kind of bossy woman that he tended to avoid. "Good morning," he said. She looked at him with those raised eyebrows and inwardly he sighed. It had not been a good morning, and there probably had been something he missed. Great. He really need to check his phone more often.

"There's a new case," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "When?"

Sally reached over and pulled a file out of her desk, pointed at it. "I came in last night. I supervised the crime scene, tried to call you, but no answer.” Greg tried to look solemn, as if he hadn’t been - preoccupied. “But the autopsy's scheduled in –" she checked her phone. "About an hour, and I'm to come and observe it with you."

Greg nodded, tried to remember if it was standard protocol. It was. It had been a long time since he trained anybody new. "Anything else?" He asked.

She shook her head. "When can you be ready to go?” He considered the question. The medical examiner’s office wasn’t that far away, so they had some time. Greg looked at her, considered. "We haven't called – him in on this, have we?" Sally's lips were tight. Distaste was clear on her face.

"No." The case didn’t need it yet, and given Sherlock’s propensity for pissing off his task force, he wasn’t going to unless he had to. "Give me 15 minutes," he said.

Sally nodded, and then disappeared. Greg ran a hand through his hair, trying to get the grit out of his eyes. He was exhausted, and his foggy brain from the hangover didn't help either. But he had to get it back together, before someone realized he wasn’t entirely there. A couple cups of coffee later he got ready to go. It was simple enough, autopsies weren't that bad. Especially since it sounded like this body was relatively fresh, and therefore wouldn't smell utterly horrendous.

Or at least he hoped.

"Let's go," he said. Sally looked at him, raised her eyebrows. He smiled. "I'm ready."

She shook her head at him, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Then they got in the black and white car, headed to St. Bart's. They got there with minimal fuss, and with plenty of time to spare. Greg was wary. Sherlock Holmes often tried to consult on cases, tried to stick his nose where it didn't belong. If they got there too early, they could run into him. And he would most definitely try and get himself on the case. If they got there too late, well – Sherlock would have practically done the autopsy himself.

"The normal place?" Greg asked. Sally nodded, and the two of them headed further inside. They signed in, all obedient, and then headed down the morgue. At some point, they would have to get proper badges that would let them come and go. Greg made a note to take care of that. It had been on his to-do list for ages.

Greg led the way to the morgue, where they would do the autopsy. The morgue tech would meet them there and then they would meet the doctor that was doing the autopsy. Greg didn’t know all of their names - there were so many.

It was a few minutes before the autopsy was scheduled to start when a young brunette woman came out of the morgue. Sally looked at her. Greg’s gaze followed - and then he froze.  
He knew that face. Recognized it. It was the same face that had been down between his legs, sucking – well, that had kept him occupied all night. And maybe afterwards.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, to compose his face. He could see Sally looking at him oddly, but forced himself to be professional. Molly was looking at him as if he was a bit mad. Maybe he was. Maybe it wasn't her after all, but her doppelgänger.

Either way, Greg felt like he was going crazy.

"Hello," Greg said, extending a hand for her to shake. "DI Lestrade.”

Molly looked at him for a moment, and there was a glint in their eyes that unnerved him. She knew, and she knew he knew. And yet she was pretending that she didn't.

Interesting.

"Dr. Molly Hooper," she said. Her gaze flickered between Greg and Sally. "I'm to do the autopsy on Mrs. Maven."

Greg nodded, his face a mask now. He could do professional. He had, at least he hoped, been in weirder situations. As they walked over to the autopsy table where the body was waiting, there was the standard small talk. Then Molly turned on the recorder and Greg went into observer mode.

He studied Molly as she worked, only half of his focus on the autopsy itself. He knew very little about her, who she was, what she did. Why she had picked him up from the bar. His cheeks threatened to flush at the thought, so he took a few deep breaths, hoped he wasn’t noticed. It had just been a one off, no repeats.

Maybe.

As Molly continued to talk, she occasionally looked up from the body, looked between Greg and Sally. She offered helpful tidbits, observations. Occasional banter. Autopsies weren't his favorite part of his job, but there were so many things that were worse that he couldn't help but be grateful when he had a chance go to one. They were sad, but a lot of the times he learned a lot about his cases for them.

In this woman, she was a suspected case of elder abuse. This would be what proved whether or not she was abused by her children. It was of critical importance to the case.

As the autopsy went on, Greg tried to take notes, tried to pay attention. But more often than not, he found his attention wandering back to last night. To her, to the way she had felt against him. The way her lips felt against his. It was wrong to be thinking about that during work, to be thinking about such things when he had other priorities. But he couldn't really help it.

She was consuming him already.

To make matters worse, sometimes she would look at him, smile, and he knew she knew what he was thinking about.

And even worse, she wasn't surprised.

Instead, he switched his gaze back to the autopsy. It was a fascinating autopsy, even though by the end it was ruled natural causes. They would have to wait for tissue samples, for toxicology to be certain. Better safe than sorry.

"Thank you for your time," Greg said.

Molly looked at him for a moment, nodded. "The samples should be back in the next two weeks."

"Thank you," Greg said. She smiled at him and he nodded back. Then he and Sally left the room.

Sally she was unusually quiet on the walk back to the car. He looked at her, raised his eyebrows in inquiry. "Yes?"

Sally studied him. "You should ask her out for coffee," she said.

Greg paused. He fought not to blush, to not let anything about what happened, show up on his face. But it he couldn't help a faint blush up on his cheeks.

Sally just raised her eyebrows, and he realized she had no idea why he was embarrassed. "You should."

Greg considered it for a moment, shook his head. "Probably a conflict of interest," he said.

Sally looked at him, raised her eyebrows. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard," she said. "It's not like she does all of the autopsies."

Greg scowled at her, because she was right. But there was something too awkward about asking her for coffee, about the fact that they had seen each other naked – they could no longer have a normal relationship. He shrugged. Evasive. Maybe," he said.

She scowled at him. “You like her."

Greg got the car, didn't look at her. "I'll think about it," he said.

Sally sighed. "That means no, doesn't it.”

“Probably.” There was no point lying to her, not when she'd find out that he meant no in the first place.

Sally got in the car, and Greg followed. "You need to move on," she said finally.

Greg shook his head. He had been separated from his wife for five years, had finalized the divorce a month ago. But none of it mattered. “No.” Sally rolled her eyes but said nothing more. He was grateful for that, at least. "Let's go.” They had other cases, killers to catch.

Sally nodded, and this time she was the one who drove. She didn't tease him about Molly, didn't mention her again on the way to the station. Instead, once they parked, got back inside, she nodded to him and went back to her desk. Then Greg was left alone to work.

He sort of worked. Half of his mind was on - well, someone else. What was she doing? Thinking? What had she thought, when she saw him there? Had she known who he was when she slept with him? Greg doubted it, but it could have been possible.

It was almost ten hours later when he finally finished what he had to. "I'm off," he said to Sally as he passed her desk. "I'll be back early in the morning," he added when Sally looked at him.

“We're canvassing her neighborhood tomorrow," Sally reminded him. "So dress appropriately.”

Inwardly Greg sighed. She sounded, in a weird way, like his mother. He knew he needed to be able to blend in, to be obscure. Sally studied him for a moment, and then shooed him with a wave of her hand.

Greg left, a lot on his mind. He couldn’t sleep, didn’t even want to try. Instead, he changed into his tight clothes, the jeans that accentuated his rear end. He was going back to the bar, and either he was going to find her, or he was going to find somebody else that would work. He was fine with either option. Wasn’t he?

It was strange, going back to the bar so close to the last time. A strong sense of déjà vu, in a way. Like he had seen her just the night before, in her bed. He wanted her again, wanted to have her against him. Maybe. He took a deep breath, cleared his mind of those thoughts, and walked in. Glanced around. Looked for her, on the off chance she was there.

She was. Sitting at the bar, dressed in a black minidress like last time. This one was different, tighter. It hugged her curves, accentuated her slimness. Highlighted her vulnerability. He was pretty sure she did that on purpose, dressed with the goal of driving men mad. It worked.

Greg studied her for a moment, fairly certain she had not seen him when he entered. Was it worth approaching her again? Was it worth asking her again? He didn't always do repeats, not with the possibility of emotional attachment. But – with her, he thought he wouldn't mind. He wanted her, and he wasn’t sure why.

Before he could chicken out, before he could do anything stupid, he nodded to the bartender, caught their attention. He kept out of Molly’s sight, but ordered her a drink. It was the same as last night, the same one she had been drinking when he had arrived. If she indicated interest - he could move forward.

Molly looked startled for a moment when the drink arrived, her eyebrows raising just a touch. Then she looked around, spotted him. Smirked. She looked him for a moment, her gaze lingering on his. Then she took a sip of the drink. Inclined her head, beckoned with a finger.

Greg considered for barely a moment. Whatever would happen, would happen. He picked up a drink, came over, sat next to her. This time he was the one that reached out, touched her thigh. She looked at him, her eyes intent. He slid his hand inward, towards the vee of her thigh. Tempting. So tempting.

"Hello," he said, his voice low, rumbly.

She looked at him, studied him. "Round two?" she asked.

Her voice sent shivers of desire down his spine. He stroked her thigh gently. Teasingly. "Yes."

Molly smiled, but it was a devilish smile, one that sent heat flowing through his veins. She reached out, grabbed his hand. Dragged him out of the bar.

It was easy to let her, to let her have control for this moment. He would turn the tables soon enough.

This time they went back to his place, his shoddy little bachelor pad. It would do for now, do for what they wanted. What they needed. It was within walking distance, but neither of them spoke. Their hands brushed, every so often. Heat flooding through his veins every time her skin touched his. Oh yes, there was something special about her.

They barely made it inside before she was on him, pressing him against the door as she kissed him hungrily. She was already unbuttoning his shirt, ripping it open. Greg kissed her back, unzipping her dress. Clothes weren’t important, weren’t relevant. He wanted to have her against him.

She broke the kiss to step out of her dress, and he was only half surprised to see that she wasn’t wearing underwear of any kind. She was naked, except for the dress. He swallowed at the sight, his cock hard. She was gorgeous. Slim, slightly curved, and looking at him with a gaze that made him think she could eat him whole - literally or figuratively.

“Looking isn’t doing,” she murmured, stepping closer and ripping his shirt off. This time they kissed again, and he welcomed her breasts against his bare chest as she worked at the fly of his trousers. He groaned into her mouth as her fingers brushed his cock. Oh god, he wanted her. This wasn’t nearly fast enough.

He stepped out of his pants, leaned down, kissed her neck, sucked. Left bruises there that she could remember him by. Her breath sounded loud in his ears, her heartbeat thrummed under the vein in his neck. He felt dizzy, he felt high. He wanted her, he wanted all of her. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured, his voice hoarse already.

She stroked a hand teasingly down his middle, over his groin. Considered. He pulled back, looked at her. He was half out of his mind with arousal, and she wanted to play games. She looked at him, he looked at her. So he reached out, cupped her breasts. Watched as she bit her lips, inhaled sharply. But she didn’t move.

He pinched her nipple, heard her gasp. Felt his cock throb. Oh god. She was going to ruin him, and he would let her. “Let’s go,” she murmured, and then pulled his boxers down so fast he could barely step out of them before she was back up. “I’m on top.”

He swallowed, nodded. “After you,” he said with a mock bow. She looked at him, snorted. And then dragged him to the bedroom.


End file.
